Patience!
by Demigirl17
Summary: When Sherlock disobeys Lestrade's command for patience it is the knight who winds up with the short end of the stick and becomes a captive of the Zygerrian queen. When Lestrade calls on Mace Windu we gain a peek at the silver haired knight's background. Hopefully Sherlock learns the lesson of patience, as obedience seems to elude him.
1. Chapter 1

"Must we, Master?"

Lestrade snorted at his impudent brat's question and tugged at the young man's shoulders. Fifteen Sherlock may have been, but he still retained his ten year old temperament. His padawan turned a wary eye towards Lestrade, his expression already pleading with him to turn back. Sherlock had never been one for negotiations, especially not when it came to negotiations with slavers. Lestrade gently cupped the base of the teen's neck and traced it with his thumb. The sky taxi hit a small bit of turbulence, effectively breaking their connection.

"I told you, you needn't come for this," he said quietly. "Zygerria is known for their slaves, they-"

"I came to make sure you stay out of trouble," Sherlock snapped. "The last time I declined your offer of accompaniment you wound up prisoner on Weequay pirate ship."

Lestrade cast the younger man an offended look. "I got out on my own, thank you very much."

"Master Jinn rescued you, Teacher. If not for him the council would have had to pay your ransom," Sherlock said with a glare out their transports window. The boy still was cross with having missed out on his master's misadventure. Like any normal boy his age, Sherlock craved action and pirates were amongst his favorite. In another life, perhaps, Sherlock himself would have been a grand space captain.

Lestrade leaned back in his seat and scratched at his chest with an offended huff. "I was already half way out by the time _Master Jinn_ graced me with his presence."

Sherlock gave the smallest of smiles, before cupping his chin in his hand and surveying the outside world. Zygerria was a great, thriving planet. Palaces were placed strategically across it's many lands, and the cities stood high and proud. Only recently had the Jedi decided to intervene with their government, as they had begun taking slaves. This action was greatly outlawed by the Republic, and Jedi were sent at once to correct it.

"I do not think we will be welcomed into the city with open arms," Sherlock said suddenly. "Especially as ambassadors for the Republic."

Lestrade shrugged. "We are not going in as ambassadors, young one. We are to be seen as immigrants, seeking to live in the outskirts of the city as mineral farmers."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "Then why are we traveling into the heart of the city?"

"Registration," the elder said easily. "We must be deemed worthy before we are allowed access."

"And if we are not deemed worthy?" Sherlock bit out. Lestrade had no doubt the boy thought back to his days as Moriarty's captive. He steady his protégé with a strong hand over his shoulder.

"What makes you think I haven't got a plan?" the knight said mischievously.

Sherlock merely nodded and turned his gaze back towards the window, chin still cupped in his hand. Such a serious boy when he wanted to be, which often was. Though in the quiet times he could be persuaded into merriment, often when they were on Naboo or away from civilian life. His padawan had often expressed his desire to simply reside on Naboo with no interruptions from the Jedi council. Though Lestrade felt the same, he forced himself to chide the boy for such thoughts. Sherlock peered back at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You feel sad, Teacher," Sherlock accused lightly.

Lestrade brushed it away. "Reminiscing is all."

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. "About your long past youth?"

Lestrade snorted. "About a bratling who used to know respect for his elders."

"And who would that be, my master?"

"No one you are familiar with, my padawan," Lestrade said fondly. Sherlock allowed himself a large, brief grin before electing kick at his master's boots. Lestrade chuckled as his padawan continued the gesture, unconsciously seeking play. Were they not on a delicate mission, Lestrade would have indulged his child and tussled carelessly. But their transport came to an abrupt halt, reminding them it wasn't the time or place for such antics.

The rose together, drawing their hoods low over their eyes before stepping out into the brightness. Dirt clung heavily to their boots as they made their way to the drop of zone. Sherlock strode silently to his left side, his hands thrust nervously into their sleeves. Lestrade gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before gliding over to a Zygerrian officer.

The humanoid-feline cast him a dirty look and at once commanded the duo to follow him into a small room. The guard was a full foot taller than Lestrade, but appeared to be twice as lean. His claw strayed to the whip at his belt. Behind the knight, Sherlock flinched in a way that was barely noticeable to the untrained eye.

Lestrade smiled politely. "Is there a problem?"

"We don't welcome your kind as anything other than brief visitors," the guard snapped, indicating their human species.

Lestrade grinned sweetly and with a small wave of the hand spoke, "You will make an exception this one time."

The Zygerrian's eyes clouded with Lestrade's control. "I will make an exception this one time," he said dumbly.

Another small hand gesture sent forth another piece of his will. Again the knight spoke, "You will let us in through a discreet entrance."

The Zygerrian repeated his instructions obediently and maneuvered to the back of the room. He unlatched a door and with a small nod instructed them to move along. Lestrade strode pass with little hesitation, Sherlock waited a moment.

"Forget our faces," the teen said coldly with no hand gesture. Lestrade could feel the Dark Side ring out faintly in the Force as the guard nearly collapsed from the weight of Sherlock's will. He raised an arm carefully.

"Come along, Curly," he instructed softly.

"Yes, Teacher," Sherlock said quietly and gratefully accepted his master's warmth. Once they were safely in the center of the city Sherlock bowed his dark head slightly. "Forgive me," he said delicately.

Lestrade frowned at young man who had once run to him crying when he done wrong. Perhaps he missed those days, Sherlock had always been quick to cuddle and slow to calm himself. With a sigh Lestrade returned his mind to the present. "We will discuss it at home."

Across their bond a brief pang of home sickness shattered across the peace. Sherlock dipped his head further. "Yes, Teacher."

"Your thoughts betray you, Curly. We will be home soon," Lestrade said easily. "But you should void yourself of this attachment."

"Yes, Master," Sherlock said with no promise in his voice.

"Brat," his master teased lightly.

Sherlock smiled slightly and bowed gracefully. They continued their walk, Sherlock stood much closer than before. Lestrade glanced around at the population of feline-humanoids with interest, even Sherlock's eyes were wandering over them.

"These are the next stage in evolution from my people," Sherlock informed him. "Gorians have animalistic instincts, but do not carry their physical traits."

"Ah," Lestrade said with interest. "And where do my people stand in the evolution chain?"

Sherlock giggled involuntarily. "Very low, Teacher."

Lestrade chuckled. "Perhaps I should call you "Master"."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow with mock superiority. "Do you think you could handle being a padawan again, Master? I've heard you call no one, save Qui Gon, by their proper title in years."

Lestrade shrugged. It hadn't been a normal occurrence in his youth either, he had called his own mentor "master" and Yoda, he supposed. At the time of his apprenticeship, it hadn't been assumed that he would make the rank of knight.

Until Yoda had gotten a hold of him.

"Come along," he said tiredly.

Sherlock nodded slowly and followed Lestrade into the main center. Vendors decorated the streets calling to them to purchase their items. He was surprised when his padawan perked up at the offer of a dark green fruit, the teen vanished from his side and strode to the merchandise.

"Teacher," Sherlock said shortly, his hand held out before him in demand for credits. Lestrade lifted his eyebrows in question. The bratling merely cocked his head with a small smile. Lestrade sighed.

"May your own child bankrupt you some day, as much you bankrupt me," Lestrade said with an eye roll.

"I do not plan on having a child," Sherlock huffed accepting the coins. "You will wait until your silver hair falls out if you are hoping for justice."

"Ah, you forget, Sherlock," Lestrade smiled. "I did not plan to have you, and yet here we are."

Sherlock snorted. "I am delightful, Teacher. Other children could not compete with my intellect, I have saved you from a boring child."

"Fair enough, Curly," Lestrade said warmly.

Sherlock bit into the fruit with a ravenous appetite, the juice dribbled down his chin and forced him to wipe it away. He held it out to Lestrade in offering, but the elder man cringed and shook his head. Sherlock was disgusting with what he would scarf down, there was a time when the boy had eaten raw meat without hesitation. He did not trust anything the teen chewed on.

"What are we to do now?" Sherlock said merrily, taking another large bite.

"There is a slave auction not far from here. We will find out where the captives are being held and move from there," Lestrade said softly. "And we will nothing interfere until I say so."

Sherlock's face drew into a small scowl. "Yes, Master."

"Curly," Lestrade warned, "You will do nothing without me."

"I have agreed already, Master," Sherlock snapped.

Lestrade turned to him fully and clutched each shoulder tightly. The boy had grown out of his instinct to flinch whenever Lestrade gave him a stern glare, but even now he cringed slightly. Lestrade shook him lightly. "You have said what I want to hear. But you have been in my care almost six years now, Sherlock, I know when you are lying to me."

Sherlock frowned. "I-"

"Sherlock," Lestrade said firmly.

Sherlock gazed at the elder man almost hesitantly, his gaze flickered towards the ground. With a strong inhale he turned a defiant glare upwards. "I will do what I feel is right, Master. Whether that be to obey your instructions or intervene, I do not know."

Lestrade did not know whether to embrace his growing padawan or rebuke him for disobedience. The knight closed his brown eyes. "For now, my padawan, I ask that you trust me to know what is best for your safety. At least in situations such this," he said fairly. He was given a dubious frown.

Why did he have a wrenching feeling Sherlock was going to learn of consequences the hard way?

oOo

Sherlock was leaning heavily against the railing of the arena.

Lestrade watched the teen closely, ready to still him should he become irate. The cold metal in the teen's hand was already crushed with an angry grip. He hid it well from his padawan, but Lestrade felt similarly as the Zygerrian guards led out slave after slave.

"They're proud of it," Sherlock hissed. "Proud to own another being…I do not understand where such pride comes from, Teacher."

Teacher.

Sherlock had grown to adore calling him by the informal title. When he was younger and more hesitant it was always "Master", as he grew more comfortable and learned the term did not mean "owner", but instead "teacher", Sherlock became enthralled. His then eleven year old had curled tightly into his side one night, tracing an old blaster scar that decorated his arm.

"_Can I call you it?" Sherlock asked softly. "It's just…I like you, you don't feel like an owner, a master."_

_Lestrade shifted and pulled Sherlock closer, keeping his misting eyes on his data pad. "If that is what you wish, Sherlock. But the Jedi use master as a term for guardian, not owner."_

"I cannot fathom it," Sherlock mumbled and leant into his mentor's arm for support. "I cannot, Master. I do not understand."

Lestrade placed his chin on top of the padawan's curly hair and sighed. "I don't either, Sherlock. I have struggled with it since you first came to me."

Sherlock turned into his master's neck and sniffed it until his nerves calmed. Lestrade smiled down at the boy. "We will find the captives," the knight promised.

"I trust you," Sherlock replied easily.

Lestrade tensed as they led out several children, instinctively pulling Sherlock closer. Sherlock went rigid in his arms and audible snarled at the display. Lestrade tightened his grip around the young man's shoulders, thankfully it looked to passers as if they were embracing. It was more of a restraining hold truth be told. Lestrade swiftly disarmed his padawan of his saber and clipped it to his own belt, the teen snarled in rebellion. Lestrade silenced him with a rare glare.

"If you blow our cover now there will be no way to trace back to the other slaves. We must be patient, Sherlock, and think of the crowd of imprisoned, not just the children," Lestrade said sternly.

Sherlock tugged at his master's grip violently and hissed, "They are children, Master. Little ones!"

"I know," the knight said softly, "be still."

"How can you sit still? How can you-?"

"Because I know our outcome will save them if all remains as planned. I cannot rescue everyone if we reveal ourselves now, Curly."

Sherlock began to shake, in fury or frustration the master did not know. "Moriarty would wait too. What is the point of being a Jedi if you can't help people? You're no different than him if you do nothing." Sherlock seethed.

"Sherlock," Lestrade said with a small amount of hurt bleeding into his speech. Sherlock turned his face from his master with a small sigh of frustration.

"I-"

An explosion erupted from below sending feline-humans hybrids soaring through the air. Several humans gracefully bounded through the now gaping hole in the side of the arena, adorned in jet packs. At once the planet was on high alert.

"Damn it. They are rebels trying to…damn it," Lestrade hissed. "They will ruin everything."

"They will save those children!" Sherlock snapped as he tugged his light saber from Lestrade's belt. "And I am going to help them!"

"Sherlock, patience!"

But it was too late, the padawan had pulled his scarf over his nose, effectively hiding his face, and had leapt from the side of the balcony. Lestrade cursed in rage and hid his face similarly to Sherlock. He followed him over the railing, his saber sang to life in his hand. It was a war zone.

Lestrade slashed through a guard who had turned his electric whip to one of the children. Rebels were snatching up children, adults, and the elderly that were present in the arena. The knight growled in pain, knowing there would be no saving the others. All the other children who had passed from the arena to the holding bays on days previous. No saving the elderly in need of food and drink at labor camps.

Sherlock was far too young to understand what was at stake, too young to understand the value of patience. But he should have trusted his master!

Whips and blasters rang out, trying to stop the rebellion around them. The Zygerrians roared at the rescuers of their slaves and tried desperately to round them all into a corner. They were beginning to succeed by the time Lestrade found his padawan, who had gotten his arm badly scorched but still managed to carry a small girl child. The teen looked on his teacher smugly. "We are still saving the slaves, Master."

Idiot youth. Not many other Jedi saw it, but Sherlock was a whirlwind of emotions. And the boy did not know how to cope with them.

Now there was truly only one way to locate the others. And it would be a tedious task to say the least, but to answer the boy Lestrade pressed his lips into a thin line and pulled his padawan from the end of whip. Sherlock passed the girl off to one of the rebels and brandished his saber next to his master.

"We need to start retreating, or face outnumbering," Lestrade shouted. One of the captains nodded and called for evacuation while Lestrade and Sherlock took the brunt of the attack. The rifle fire was deflected back at its blasters, but it was getting heavier and heavier as time wore on. Lestrade grimaced as his back met wall.

Lestrade noted that well some rebels had their jet packs ready, others had none or damaged packs. They stood firm, rifles in hand, ready for the unknown. Sherlock had a similar look of rebellion in his eyes as the feline-humans began demanding surrender, the padawan snarled through his scarf.

"Sherlock, follow the rebels with jet-packs out. Make sure the children get to safety, and when you can contact Master Windu," Lestrade order firmly. "Explain this situation to him."

"I will stay at your side, Teacher," Sherlock said stubbornly. "I can-"

"I'm not planning anything foolish, youngling. Certainly not anything I cannot handle myself. Obey me, Sherlock. I have to clean up the mess that has been made," Lestrade said crossly. _By you_.

Sherlock reflected a blast backwards with a flourish of his blue blade. "I did what I thought was right," Sherlock said with young pride.

"Then go," Lestrade said with more harshness than he meant. "Contact Master Windu and keep the children and the remaining rebels safe. That is your task from here out."

Sherlock flinched slightly at the angered tone, his eyes narrowed in his own frustration. "As you wish, my master."

And with those parting words the teen leapt up the wall, following closely behind the other human rebels. Lestrade rubbed his brow in annoyance, but retook up his saber. Perhaps he could save a few of the others before his inevitable capture as well.

The fight grew maddening.

Lestrade's saber was eventually shot from his hand by a well-timed attack that involved three Zygerrians jumping on him at the same time. It sailed away in an arch of green before disappearing completely. Sadness hit him as he watched it go and prayed it would find a way back to him. They had been through a lot together.

Drawing power from the Force he threw off his attackers with an easy Force shove and took up a blaster. He danced through the crowd of rebels and Zygerrians, firing like a mad bantha at whatever did not look human. He disarmed them of their whips and weapons, but his victories were short lived.

He made it half way through the arena, his cloak had vanished shortly after it had caught fire, before a sharp pain erupted in his side. Looking down at the throbbing ache in his side, the knight discovered the cause of his discomfort. A knife had pierced him. A damn knife of all the things flying through the air!

His knees buckled beneath him as he caught his side between his hands, the Force sang back in response. _Poisoned blade_, it warned.

_No shit,_ the knight responded.

His opponents took his weakness as opportunity and pounced on top of his fallen form. He threw the Force out and sent them flying mercilessly through the air. His side burned in agony from his efforts, he grunted in pain.

Over him several shadows began to loom over him, Lestrade's energy was depleting alarmingly swiftly. His managed to raise a blaster off the ground, only to have it kicked away by a Zygerrain warrior. He hissed in pain.

"Leave this one to me," a female voice purred.

Lestrade did his best to look menacing, but somehow he doubted it looked anything more than a grimace.

The poison sent him into darkness.

oOo

She spotted him the moment he took down one her generals with his bare hands.

His silver hair was plastered to his forehead from sweating profusely. Whether he was a rebel or one of the Jedi she did not know, but by the gods the man was desirable. Even for a human it was evident he radiated power. His scarf had slipped from his face, revealing an appealing, tanned face. Though as many humans, he had a furless face. His skill with the blaster had been unparalleled. Picking him out from a distance, she had waited for an opportunity and then had plunged her blade into his side. It would not kill him, but he would be weak until her antidote was administered.

He had still managed to throw his enemies off, if only for a moment. He let out a terrifying roar before swaying forwards on his hands and knees. After kicking away his rifle she leaned towards him curiously. He had maintained a hateful glare until the young buck collapsed in pain. His brown eyes had flickered and then rolled behind his head.

She purred as she lifted him across her lean shoulders, his body was completely limp against the back of her neck. She heard a groan of pain and a muttering that sounded like "Sherlock".

She carried her prize to her palace.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was being fussed over by the women of the rebel army.

They examined his arm thoroughly, thanking him and his master for their help while they applied the murderous ointment to his arm. No bacta for him, it didn't seem like any of the rebels owned it. Whatever they were using burned his arm fiercely.

The padawan was nodding stiffly, highly displeased with his master's parting words. Perhaps he hadn't parted with his master well either, but Lestrade should have trusted him! It was obvious those children had needed help at once, they were so scared the Force trembled with it. How could his master look on children and not desire… Sherlock took a steadying breath in. He had to calm himself, Lestrade would be back after he located the others, and they would sort everything out. Why they hadn't simply saved the children first and then gone back after Sherlock did not know.

Still…his master had a knack for trouble, and it hadn't felt like he had a stable plan. His teacher wouldn't stoop to anything horribly dangerous…not without his padawan, of course. Sherlock reached through their bond in attempts to reach his mentor, but no response came. Sherlock pressed a bit more instantly. Lestrade was silent.

Odd.

"I need to contact someone," Sherlock told a woman who bent near his arm to examine it. She smiled politely and told him to be patient. By the Force he as sick of hearing he needed patience, Master told him every other day he was not patient enough. He did not need to hear it from strangers. He brushed the woman away impatiently and stood up swiftly. "I need to contact the Jedi council," he said crossly.

One of the leaders stepped forward to soothe the youth, but Sherlock narrowed his eyes menacingly. There was no time to deal with people who would not understand. The leader sighed heavily. "Right this way."

Sherlock was led to a comm center and handed a very outdated holocamera. The padawan waited until he was alone before hailing the council, blasted thing did not bring up much of a picture. The image flickered briefly before centering on one master in particular. Sherlock bowed low.

"Master Yoda," he said in greeting.

"Padawan Holmes," the green troll chuckled, "in trouble, are you?"

"Not me, Master," Sherlock said sorely. "But I have not heard from my master since we were separated in battle, I am concerned for him."

"Hmmm, in trouble, he is?" Yoda inquired.

"He said he had a plan and requested Master Windu assist him." Sherlock explained the situation further. "He promised it was nothing too foolish."

The ancient master chuckled deep in his throat. "If Master Windu he requests, lied he did. In danger your master must be."

"Why?" Sherlock asked swiftly. Surely Lestrade wouldn't try anything rash, not without him. Not without his padawan to assist him. The fact that he had asked for Master Windu and not Master Jinn meant nothing.

Or had he missed something. Lestrade had been overly hurt by his padawan's words when Sherlock accused him of being uncaring, but that was because Master cared about every kriffing thing that existed and would likely go out of his way to save it.

Oh. But still-

Master Windu had arrived, his face drawn in tight with disapproval.

"Holmes, we must talk."

Bantha chisszk.

oOo

"Nnngghh."

It wasn't his most graceful regaining of consciousness that was for sure, but at least he was alone when he came to. Strike that, a med droid was buzzing noisily around him, wrapping his wound with little caution. Lestrade hissed as it ran it's unforgiving claws over his still bleeding injury. The wound wept as he silently wished he could.

Blast it. Whatever kind of poison the blade had been dipped in was burning him alive from the inside out. Cooking his innards in an unobservable flame. No, no it wasn't. He had to calm himself or risk making the effects worse. He was not a youngling that needed comforting, not anymore.

Already laid out on a medical table, Lestrade allowed himself to lean back fully against the hard metal table and forced himself to breathe. His hands cupped his side carefully, so carefully, as he called upon a corner of the Force.

Breathe in the Force, out the pain. It was the mantra often taught to younglings who would skin their knees and scuff their shins. But it was a useful technic for a fully-fledged Jedi as well. He put himself into a deep healing trance, focusing on ridding himself of the pain.

It wasn't long before his trance was interrupted by a sharp prod to his side.

The young Jedi cringed as most of his work disappeared in one solid jab. Pain blossomed once more in his abdomen, but the knight did not cry out. Instead he opened his eyes and cast a long, dark look at his captor. A Zygerrian female smiled down at him, displaying her sharp teeth in a sly grin.

Kriff it all.

"It is not every day I grace a prisoner with my presence," the ginger female purred contently.

"Consider me highly flattered," Lestrade said shortly. "May I have the honor of my jailer's name?"

"Only if you give me the courtesy of yours."

Ah. Well.

"Gregory," he offered stiffly. Only five people called him "Gregory" and got away with it, but for now it would have to be six. As he tried to teach his padawan many times, manners could be a grand tool in escape. Lately the boy had been ignoring his training all together.

"Lidia Sabe," she smiled sweetly. "You are in the presence of a queen, my dear rebel."

Lestrade managed a small smirk that resembled more of a grimace. At the very least he was thought to be a rebel and was not yet known as Jedi. That surely wouldn't go well as Zygerrians desired exotic servants, a tamed Jedi would no doubt bring a plentiful bounty. Lestrade reclosed his eyes tiredly, feeling for more weak than he had in years. "To what do I this great honor?" he said with exhaustion.

"I have witnessed you in battle and deemed you worthy of being my own personal pet," the queen once again purred this time reaching out a furry finger to stroke his cheek. Lestrade had the dignity to remain unmoved and simply allowed himself to focus once more on his heal trance.

"Oh," he said in response, his body numbed by the Force.

"You don't sound very troubled, rebel."

"Perhaps the pain in my side is clouding my judgment," Lestrade said lazily, "perhaps I am a foolish man, I may have even planned my own capture for all you know."

He could sense a shift in the queen, her emotions went from eager and satisfied to on edge and cold. He could practically hear Sherlock's mocking tone saying, "Manners, Teacher."

Lestrade sighed, "Either way I can honestly say I was not expecting your poison."

The praise hit its mark, and the Zygerrain queen perked once more. "It was designed with the purpose to make any being weak without killing it. There are two antidotes for it. One to take it out of your system completely and one to keep it from sending you into cardiac arrest. You will be receiving the latter every four hours."

Breathe in the Force.

"I hope this isn't your method to keep all your slaves in line. It seems counterproductive to me and highly uncivilized," Lestrade said exhaling deeply. The pain began to leave him once more.

Thank the living Force for that.

"I plan to show you off, Gregory. To the others, the ones who thought they could escape me, and to your fellow rebels who now sit in the dungeons below. You were their greatest warrior and now you are tamed."

Lestrade nearly snorted, but checked himself at the last moment. If she planned to display him she would have to lead him to her victims. With a bit of patience and improvising he could have the others freed swiftly. He inhaled deeply.

"A tactic worthy of a queen, I suppose," he said quietly.

"You understand war tactics?" she asked, pleased.

"The man who reared me taught me great respect for strategies," Lestrade said through clenched teeth as the pain refused to leave him entirely. It wasn't completely a lie. The man who was supposed to raise him had been a kriffer, but his _master_ had taught him much. Which is why he needed Mace to get here now.

"A wise man," she said, splaying her hand over his chest seductively. "Tell me, Gregory, are you attractive for a human?"

For Force's sake.

"My wife tells me I annoy the chisszk out of her," Lestrade said amused, "but she still puts up with me."

The smirk slid from his captor's face. "You have a mate then?"

Lestrade shrugged while opening his eyes. "And a child. Does that surprise you?"

The female's frown deepened as she produced the tokens that normally hung around his neck. Sherlock had no idea he wore them, but Molly had given them to him. Engraved on them were each one of the names of the people he held most dear, written in ancient Naboo's language. He felt a childish tug in his stomach and reached out demandingly for them. The Zygerrian queen withdrew them from his grasp, the medical droid pulled him back against the stiff metal table.

"An odd trinket for a free man," she said softly. "Owning a collar."

"It isn't a-" Lestrade began, his composure slipping.

"It has your name, does it not?" the queen inquired politely. Lestrade grit his teeth. "And the name of the people who own you."

Lestrade took in a deep breathe, centering and steadying himself. The engravings bore only two names and in many ways it was true, they did each own a piece of him. He held out his hand to the side and with a small, barely noticeable prompting of the Force said, "Please."

The queen laid it in his open palm without realizing she had been encouraged, Lestrade lay it around his neck before she had time to change her mind once more. He thumbed over this disk with Sherlock's name deeply etched in. Damn that boy for making him worry.

In the distance a mechanical door slammed open. Lestrade instinctively wanted to turn his head to the noise, but every time he moved the damn med droid pushed him back down. He remained unmoved.

"Is this the prisoner, Mother?" a Zygerrian child appeared at the queen's arm.

"Yes, my child," the queen purred softly.

Lestrade made to sit up, but the med droid held firm and sank it's death grip into his shoulders. From His position on the table he observed the mother tenderly licking her child's cat like ears and face in greeting. The addition to a child was complicating, blasting the slaves to freedom seemed far less likely now.

"Is he to be my teacher?" the little girl said eagerly.

"Teacher?" Lestrade asked the girl gently, "how do you mean?"

"You were the best fighter out there. Mother's been looking a very long time for the best fighter so I can learn to be a warrior queen like her," the girl recited loyal. The knight's eyes narrowed.

"You've conditioned your own child into this?" Lestrade demanded heatedly. "Violence, slavery, what are you going to show her next? My torture?"

"If you do not remain compliant," the queen said mischievously. "My daughter must learn to be a strong queen, a true warrior, a near goddess. That is our ways, dear Gregory. Do not pretend that your child was not fighting at your side in the arena. You are no better than us, do not insult us with such accusations."

Lestrade set his jaw firmly in a line of disapproval. "Believe me, I did not want him out there."

With a small flick of her hand the queen called the med droid back to her. It whizzed away noisily, leaving him, he thought, free to sit up. But a splayed hand on his chest stilled him. Normally it would have been ignored, but the queens other hand had attached itself dangerously close to his wound. He yielded to the pressure and laid silently back on the table. The child was called forward.

"Restrain him, Nitra."

"Yes, Mother," the child said eagerly.

This time Lestrade did sit up hurriedly and ignored to queens grip on his bleeding wound. He grunted, but otherwise gave no indication of distress. "Look, you can torture me, I won't be able to stop you, but in God's name don't let the child watch. She's only-"

"My heir. And no, my sweet. This isn't torture, this is the antidote to prevent your heart from seizing. Unfortunately you must remain completely still, and this will be quite painful."

The vile woman was gleeful.

Nitra leaned forward and took his left hand securely in her own. She, surprisingly gently, laid in the metal cuff on the table, it snapped close with a vengeance. He did not fight against her small grasp as it restrained his right hand, his ankles, and finally, as she pushed his head back into its own cuff. The child moved away from him as swiftly as she could and darted behind her mother.

There was a stiff prick jabbed into his neck not a moment later by the med droid.

"This has made grown man beg me to kill them. It is not required, but I do so enjoy it when they do."

If Lestrade had thought the poison was cooking him alive he had been sorely unprepared for its antidote. The liquid raced through his veins, leaving a trial of fire where ever it touched. His muscles seized in order to correct a problem it could not see, his brain screamed for him to extinguish whatever was burning him, but of course he could do none of that.

He could breathe in the living Force.

And breathe out the pain.

And bite his lip to keep from screaming.


	3. Chapter 3

"He needs me!"

Jedi Master Mace Windu felt a muscle jump in his jaw as the padawan's voice trembled with forbidden emotion. The boy was too young to be without his master on such a hostile planet, certainly too young to attempt a solo rescue mission. The teen's eyes narrowed in a look that would no doubt send fear down his opponents' spines in his later years. However for the moment it merely made the Jedi master sigh with lost patience.

"Your master would want you in safety, padawan. Not gallivanting after him without supervision," Mace said with controlled calm.

"Then come here and supervise me," the padawan hissed.

Torn between amusement at how closely to boy was following his master's footsteps and anger at blatant disobedience, the master decided to give the fledging the latter. His own brown eyes narrowed menacingly, and instinctively the padawan's gaze dropped but maintained a scowl. Mace nodded solemnly. Greg had a tendency to avoid scolding Sherlock out right and instead used various tricks to make the boy see the errors of his ways. That would not be the case with Mace Windu.

"Padawan, you have directly disobeyed your master, and you are in the process of directly disobeying me. If this continues I am inclined to wonder if Lestrade is teaching you anything other than saber technics."

The boy's eyes flared in defiance and rage. Ah, yes. He had forgotten how attached the teen had grown to his master, after all Lestrade had been his rescuer in many ways. Perhaps insulting him had been pressing too hard.

But surprisingly Sherlock yielded. "I didn't mean any disrespect to my master. I didn't, he wasn't listening to me about…"

"It sounds very much like you were not listening to him either," Mace snapped.

Sherlock flinched. "Lestrade's not a bad teacher, don't…"

_Separate us_.

Mace pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. Take away Mitsukuni's child from him? The temple would never survive the knight's attack on it, nor would he survive whatever assassination Lestrade would plan for him for suggesting such a thing. But that was not something the padawan needed to know at the moment.

"You must report back to temple, at once," Mace instructed without a hint of comfort in his voice. "I will find Gregory and get him out of whatever trouble he is in now."

"But, I am closer to his location! I could-"

"Sherlock Holmes, you would only endanger him further by going there. If you were captured or harmed they would have control over your master. Gregory knows how to stall and annoy, he will not be subdued."

"They'll torture him," Sherlock said quietly.

"Yes," Mace said, once again without compassion. "Obey him next time."

_Oh Mitsukuni, can't you keep yourself out of trouble for more than a week at a time? _

He remembered the silver haired padawan that used to keep himself close to Yoda's elbow and peered at him with adoration. That brat was in trouble with someone in the temple at least once a day. There was the one time he had toppled over several library shelves while practicing a new Force technic during class.

Madam Nu had wrenched the boy down, by the ear he might add, to Mace's sparring session and all but dumped Mitsukuni at his feet. The padawan had waited until the madam was gone before jumping to his feet grinning. "Oops," he had laughed. "Don't tell Yoda?"

Idiot.

"Patience," Mace said tiredly. "I will bring him home as soon as I can."

Sherlock's face contorted in what looked like pain. But he followed it with a dutiful "yes, Master".

Mace knew if Sherlock were anything like Lestrade, the boy would not be coming straight home.

He called a transport swiftly.

oOo

He went completely dead weight upon his captor's shoulders.

Feigning totally weakness, he attempted to take a few shaken steps and collapsed against one of the guards. The Zygerrian hissed with annoyance at having to drag the prisoner from the med room to the slaves' bay, and Lestrade made it no easier on him. The knight used small bursts of the Force to trip the two men holding him up at the least convenient times. On the way down the stairs one of them had taken quite a nasty tumble. Lestrade, hands chained tightly in front of him and to a link around his waist, was blameless.

They threw him ungracefully at the queen's feet. Long fingers seized him by the collar of his tattered tunics and forced him upright. He grunted in pain as his side burned him, his blood was only just starting to settle from the antidote. The queen sneered at him.

They were clearly in the space were slaves boarded ships to be delivered to other planets. Some Zygerrians were scattered around the various starships, making routine repairs and refueling. Barrels of fuel and blaster jelly were rolled in and up to ships. Lestrade hid his smirk behind a grimace as the queen shifted her hand to his hair and tugged his head towards an incoming group of humans. Women, children, men, and elderly were led into the center of port and forced to crowd around the young knight.

"You are here," the queen began regally, "to be transported to your new homes, your new owners. Some of you may think escape is the answer, but you are so very wrong." In one great tug she had Lestrade on his feet, hand still clenched tightly in his hair, and twisted his head to bare his throat. One of the children started crying.

"This man was the strongest among rebels. After the Jedi departed he stayed with you, his fellow members of his resistance and killed many of my men," she said pleased. "Witness your strongest human in chains at my feet."

He was shoved mercilessly back down to his knees, his head was forced low in submission as the queen continued to speak above him.

Around him the rebels shifted uneasily, recognizing he was not one of their own. The Jedi put his finger to his lips silently and hoped his message had sunken in. He received dubious glares.

"However," the queen continued, "one Jedi might yet be in our company." A familiar saber hilt appeared at his throat. It was nearly comforting to see, until it activated and his green blade singed his chin. He hissed.

"I will give the Jedi a chance. Step forward or be the ruin of this man's life," she declared.

Irony tasted bitter in his mouth. "And if he's not present?" Lestrade asked gruffly, the hand in his hair tightened impatiently.

"You had better hope he is," he was mocked. The young man snorted.

"Oh I think he is," Lestrade growled. The Force sprang open his wrist restraints in seconds, giving him plenty of time to snatch the saber from his captor's hand. A sharp Force shove sent the queen soaring back into her own guards, Lestrade welcomed the sensation of cool metal in his hand. He flung his weapon at incoming guards, relishing the sing of the whirling blade as it hit its mark. With a swift thrust of the Force the blaster jelly and fuel was launched into the northern wall, effectively blasting an escape route.

The rebels began herding the other humans towards the gaping hole, leaving Lestrade deflected the shots until they were safely outside. He ran behind them in a flourish of green, his side burned aggressively as he twirled his saber, but it was ruthlessly ignored. Sort of.

Stars it hurt. He just wanted some bacta and tea, not necessarily in that order.

And his padawan, bratty though he was.

The knight charged in the other direction of the escaping humans, making sure the Zygerrians caught sight of him as he did. They all chased the Jedi down, not one turning towards the slaves' direction. He continued to flee without grace, his heart pumping at a terrible speed for a man with poison in his veins. He nearly doubled over as a particularly nasty cramp took his stomach by storm. Guided by the Force, he darted up an unnoticeable path and crouched low.

He gave the Zygerrians time to run pass him, and more importantly gave himself time to rest, before he began running back in the opposite direction. It was not a fast run, but it was all he could manage with the pain blooming in his side.

_Sherlock._

_Master? Teacher?_

_Curly, where-?_

He was forced to dive behind a tree as a lone Zygerrian scouter appeared in front of him. He prayed silently he had not been seen.

The large male moved on without a second glance at his hiding spot.

_With the rebels, but I can come-_

_No! No, stay there, young one._

_Master Windu will take too long to reach you, I can help!_

_Curly, you are to stay where you are!_

_Teacher!_

Lestrade was caught off guard by an impending Zygerrian and tackled without mercy to the ground. They rolled together gracelessly, hissing and spitting curses at each other. Lestrade had the sense to deactivate his saber before they rolled, thankfully a childhood lesson with training sabers had taught him the unsafety of rolling with an open blade. The Zygerrian pounced on him, attempting to seize the hilt while its owner was temporarily stunned. Lestrade swung and activated it at the same time, slicing clean through the Zygerrians torso.

"My apologies," he muttered.

His side was crying out to him, begging him for medical attention. With a soft groan he placed pressure on the torn wound, blood squirted out from between his fingers and dribbled down his side.

Poodoo.

He managed to limp heavily to a near tree and leant against it exhaustedly. The wound was one of the worst he had ever endured, the loss of blood combined with the poison made him woozy. Something was tugging his saber out of his hand, he released it without argument. "You shouldn't have run away," he was scolded by a childish voice.

Nitra.

"And you shouldn't be here," he chided in return. "Go back to your mother."

"But I disarmed you!" she exclaimed excitedly, holding his saber above her head.

A flick of the Force and the cold metal touched his palm devotedly, he clipped it to his belt. Nitra glared up at him, her hands placed on her hips in confidence as she pulled at his arm demandingly. "You've got to come back with me," she said assertively.

Lestrade felt his lips twitch at the familiar whining tone which accompanied a small pout. Sherlock often used the same technic on him when something was desired. By the Force he hoped the boy was alright.

"You only have enough antidote in your system for another hour. You've got to come back!"

Lestrade pushed himself away from his tree, his movements slow and sluggish. He trudged away from the feline-child, who followed closely at his heels. "I need to find my padawan," he said weakly. "That is the only thing I've got to do."

"Why?" Nitra pestered him, not stilling his walk, but reaching up for his saber again.

"Because he is foolish and afraid. I fear for him," Lestrade explained. "I fear he will attempt to reach for me." As he had in the past.

"And if you die? Cause you will if you don't find medical attention," Nitra said blandly.

"I have no intention of dying today, little one," Lestrade said gently. He clipped his saber to his belt as an afterthought.

"But-"

"Go back to your mother," he hissed pained. His side bled profoundly through his hand, he swore softly.

Nitra looked at him with disappointment. "You are not very good at escaping."

Lestrade managed a weak smile, thinking back to a time when he could escape from nearly anything, save for Mace. Now a days he had to be more cautious, usually he had Sherlock in tow with him. Brilliant as his padawan was, it was often difficult for the boy to make an escape without causing some disturbance.

"I suppose not," he agreed quietly, hearing trampling noises off to his side. It took moments for the feline guards to tackle him to the ground violently, despite the fact that Lestrade put up very little fight. Pain shot through him as they pinned him to the ground, the knight gasped for air sorely.

"Yield," someone growled at him.

He lifted his eyes to the guard holding him and as a last act of defiance maintained a cold glare until he was knocked unconscious by the butt of a whip slapped across his skull.

His head bounced painfully off the ground before blackness swept through him.

oOo

"We could use you, Jedi."

Sherlock said nothing, he simply resumed stuffing a pack full of supplies. Things such as water, light food, tea, only the necessities made it into his pack. Force help him if he directly disobeyed his master and did not bring tea to apologize.

"I have no interest in staying here," Sherlock said coldly.

"You could help us, free slaves with us. Surely a man of peace would not turn a blind eye to our struggle on this planet," one of the elders pleaded.

Sherlock shouldered his bag of supplies with a stubborn head shake. "I am not going to abandon my master to those slavers. You should evacuate while you can, no doubt they will seek you with a vengeance."

"Jedi," someone said calming, trying to pacify him.

The door behind them burst open, causing the rebels to jump and Sherlock to draw his saber. The sight that greeted him was bitter sweet to say the least. Men, women, and children, covered in filth and collared stood in the doorway, led by a recognizable few dirtied rebels. One of the leaders stepped forward and embraced his comrades, prompting the others to reunite with their fellows as well. Even Sherlock was seized and embraced by one of the elderly men.

"Your master is an incredible man, a remarkable man," the man wheezed.

"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded swiftly. "Is he unharmed?"

"Poisoned," one of the lead rebels remarked, "there's a horrible gash on his side. Somehow he still managed to free us all. I am sorry, son, I wish I could say clearly where he was, but we were separated. He used himself as a distraction."

_Master?_

Sherlock hand reflexively tightened over his hilt as silence was his only answer.

"Tell me everything, in great detail," Sherlock ordered quietly.


End file.
